Even
by rollingplains
Summary: Someone always has the upper hand. A minific written for a prompt fill. T for language.


author's note: A tiny little fic that's been sitting in the comments section of the C/N lj promptathon since last summer. Thought at least I'd put it on my page. For the prompt "_Clint on his back. With Natasha being the one who put him there, for whatever reason, and preferably holding him there."_

* * *

Ten seconds after it starts, he's on his back, and she's on top, knife to his neck. Insuring him from against having his windpipe slashed is his gun, pressed directly into her stomach. She has his free hand locked into submission against hers.

He has to take a moment to catch his breath but he's relieved to hear his voice still sounds cocky. "Confident, are we? Bringing a knife to a gunfight."

"Words from a dead man," she replies, equally cocky and tinged with an accent.

"I'm not dead yet, sweetheart," he reminds her. "And if you're going to send me to an early grave, I'm taking you with me."

"I'm not afraid of death," she says coolly. He doesn't doubt this. Any innate fear she might have been born with had probably been conditioned away. Based on her skill level, she was a formidable asset - one that she had been trained to protect. He's not even sure she could kill herself if she tried. Someone, somewhere, would flick a switch and she'd forget she had ever wanted to. Maybe even how.

He also figures she didn't fear death because the life she was living wasn't fully hers.

He's feeling reckless and a little desperate, and he has no good reason to start stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, but he does. "Such a waste."

She shrugs, not appearing particularly moved.

"How about we call this even?" he tries again.

"You flatter me," she scoffs. He could have her bleeding out of her spleen before she could even nick him in the neck, and she knows it.

The reckless and desperate feeling is making him feel a little high. "Is it working?"

"Don't do me any favours." He's still gently stroking the back of her hand, and she stills his thumb abruptly with hers. "We both have orders, but only one of us can carry them out. So what's stopping you?"

"Maybe I don't see this as a zero-sum game. Maybe there's a scenario where we both walk out of this."

"Sweetheart," she says, adopting his earlier tone, "we don't get happy endings in our line of work."

"Who said anything about happy endings?" he asks, breathing fast, trying to keep her engaged. "I'm just talking about one where we're both alive."

She smiles now and his vision blurs with vertigo. "I wouldn't have taken you for an optimist."

"I've made my choice already." He flicks his eyes down to the gun against her abdomen. "Maybe I'm feeling lucky."

She nods slowly in comprehension, biting her lip.

"So what'll it be?"

"Say I drop the knife..."

"I'll call off my folks and tell them you're with me."

"How do I know you won't turn on me?"

"You don't."

She hesitates for a moment longer, and then sighs, backing off him slightly so he can sit up. He sees one of her guys behind her as he does, and pulls the gun smoothly from in between them and fires a perfect killshot. The sudden movement spooks her and she shoves him back down on the floor again, knife at his throat and he's about to protest before he notices she's not looking at him.

Shit, he thinks. He's well fucked now. Cause he can tell on her face - she knows him. Whoever it is she's looking at, she knows him and he probably knows her captive just killed one of theirs, and he's likely pissed and looking for someone to pay.

She has a knee on his right arm and is holding down his left hand. He forces himself to relax (no use fighting it now) and is surprised to see her look at him with sharp concern. He stares into her eyes, trying to get a read on her. She holds his gaze for a second longer, and squeezes his hand before she snaps her eyes away, and hurls her knife at the intruder with such ferocity he half expects her arm to go flying with it.

He's no idiot. The momentum rocks her forward slightly, enough for him to regain control of his right hand and he's immediately on the comm, demanding evac for himself and an asset before he even hears the agonized scream. He turns to look at her, incredulous and barely believing what had just happened.

She looks like she can barely believe what she did herself. She's wild eyed and breathing like she had just run a marathon. She glances over at him. "_Now_ we're even," she says.


End file.
